


I fall in love, just a little (oh a little bit)

by sansuhhhsnark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of past abuse, Post battle of Winterfell, post 8.03, post parentage reveal, sansa knows jon’s true parentage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansuhhhsnark/pseuds/sansuhhhsnark
Summary: Sansa was looking forward to relaxing in her bath after the chaos that was the Battle for Winterfell.Unfortunately, Jon is looking for her.And he’s got a bone to pick with her.Written for an anon prompt on tumblr: Jon worrying about Sansa when he heard about what happened in the crypts and/or Sansa mending Jon’s cloak and putting it on him.





	I fall in love, just a little (oh a little bit)

* * *

 

The water from the hot pools in the Godswood always carries a slight tang to it.

Even the earthy florals of the oil she’s added to the water can’t disguise the undertones of what will forever remind her of dragonfire and death.

Fortunately, she is too exhausted to care about anything except how the steaming water eases the ache in her muscles and the chill in her bones.

Winter seems to be leaving the land thanks to the death of the Night King at Arya’s capable hand, but the lands of the North will always carry a chill in the air, even during the days of summer.

She sinks deeper into the steaming scented water, tilting her head back to fully soak her hair. Gilly had found one of the precious few bars of scented soap left, and after the terror of the night before all Sansa wants is to scrub herself clean of the dirt and fear she accumulated in the crypts. She sighs in pleasure as she drags the damp cloth along her arms and legs, taking care to be gentle with the scars she has that are still occasionally tender.

She’s washing along her collarbone when Jon bursts through the door to her room with barely a knock.

They freeze, taking each other in.

His mouth is open, as though he had started to speak. Whatever words he had meant to say are forgotten.

“Jon, are you alright? Did something happen?”

For a moment she panics, fearing the worst. She told Arya to find Maester Tarly hours ago so that he could take a look at her wounds. The blow to Arya’s brow had particularly worried her.

When Jon doesn’t immediately answer her she rises out of the tub, her bath forgotten.

He startles at the movement and looks away, hastily becoming interested in the carved direwolves on her bedpost.

“Everyone is fine. Sansa I-“ he swallows. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. I should come back later-“

“No.” She sinks back down into the copper tub with a sigh of relief. “You’ve already seen everything there is to see, Jon, so you might as well stay.” She relaxes against the reclined wall of the tub. “What is it you needed to speak to me about?”

Jon swallows and stays silent, still looking at the bedpost, so she resumes her washing, even reaching over to the little stool nearby for the soap to wash her hair.

She has been stripped naked in front of hundreds at court, beaten and cut and abandoned by men who should have been her protectors. After all the cruelty that has been done to her heart and her body, why should it bother her that Jon- the one man who will always protect her- might see her naked body?

The body is merely flesh, after all, and now Sansa knows that there are intimacies they already share that run far deeper.

He is still tense, mere feet away from her, and the silence is marred by the sound of her fingernails scrubbing the soft soap gently into her scalp.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened in the crypts?” he finally asks the bedpost.

“You were told what happened in the crypts at the first available moment, Jon.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and turns- she thinks he means to yell- but he catches himself and re-averts his eyes.

When he finally does speak, his voice is low and soft, speaking volumes to her.

“They told me you killed a wight. One of the dead Starks come to life.”

“I did.” She rinses her hair with the clean water she had set aside.

“You put yourself in front of the others, with the undead all around you and only a knife for protection.”

“It had to be done Jon.” She looks up at him. He’s standing there, still looking away yet close enough to touch. She takes his hand and squeezes it. “You would lay down your life for the lives of our people and yet you would not let me do the same?”

“It’s different, Sansa,” he says, pleading.

“No it isn’t.” She pulls at him, yet he refuses to be moved. “I am the Lady of Winterfell. What I could not do on the battlefield with you, I could do in the crypts.”

“You shouldn’t have to-“

She shakes her head at him.

“If I am called to die for my people then so be it. I would do so willingly, and be glad for it. You cannot begrudge me, Jon, when you have already done the same.”

“But I would spare you the burdens that should fall on me alone!”

His exclamation startles her. He’s not one to raise his voice unnecessarily, and never with her. He’s like their father in that respect. After a moment he sighs and finally meets her eyes and she sees the world of worry and regret he holds there. He sinks down to his knees before her, bringing the hand he’s still holding to his lips, as if in apology.

“I would gladly lay down my life to preserve yours, Sansa.”

“It’s not your duty to protect me-“

“Aye, but it is.” She shivers when he tucks a wet strand of her hair behind her ear. “I will always protect what is most precious to me.” His fingers trail down to her chin and he tilts her face up to his.

Jon’s eyes are almost black in the dim light of her bedchamber, illuminated only by firelight from the hearth. He’s close enough that she can smell him, the leather and spice that she missed so much the months that he was away, and she licks her lips.

His eyes flicker down at the movement, his thick, dark lashes fluttering as he looks at her mouth and then back into her eyes.

“Am I precious to you, Jon?” she asks, knowing the answer, but yet daring to ask anyway.

His eyes soften.

“You are beyond precious to me.”

She melts into him, threading her damp fingers through his curls to tug his mouth to hers.

When their lips meet it’s with a sigh, gentle despite the intensity between them. His hand cups the back of her head, cradling her like the precious thing he claims her to be.

“It terrifies me to think that I could have lost you,” he whispers against her lips. “I’m sorry that I was angry. I needn’t have yelled.”

She accepts his apology with a gentle kiss. “I thought I would have to learn to live without you, Jon.” Tears are slipping down her face as she breaks, trusting him to gather up the pieces. “I saw you on the battlefield, atop that dragon and raining fire on the army of the dead. But then there were so many of them and when we heard the soldiers screaming to be let into the crypts...”

He’s kissing the tears off her face, his lips soft against her lashes, her cheekbones, her chin.

“I thought that you were all going to die. You, Arya, and Bran.” Her voice catches. “I thought that I would have to learn to live without you, Jon. Dying to protect the others in the crypts would have been a blessing compared to the nightmare of living without you by my side.”

He kisses her then, full on the mouth, and she can taste the salt of her tears on his lips.

“I’ll always come back to you, Sansa.”

She shakes her head.

“You can’t promise me that,” she says, kissing him again, fiercely this time. She moans when he licks into her mouth. “I would rather be hurt by the truth than comforted by a lie. Give me only promises you can keep.”

“I promise you that I love you,” he says, pulling back to look at her. His hands cradle her face affectionately. “I’ve loved you since the first, when I saw you standing in the courtyard of Castle Black. I thought I was looking at a ghost.” His thumb slides along her lower lip. “It was as though the world fell away and I swear that’s when my heart started beating again.” He kisses her forehead. “My heart knew then what my mind refused to know. But I’m done lying to myself.”

We’ll look the truth in the face, she thinks.

“I love you, Jon. The gods help me, I do.” She kisses him again.

“Then marry me,” he whispers against her lips, panting. “Marry me tonight, in front of the heart tree.”

She answers him with a kiss. “I’ll marry you, Jon.”

She wants him so fiercely it hurts.

He’s so gentle with her, caressing her damp hair and her face and neck, but never any lower. Never where she aches for him to touch. He slides his tongue into her mouth as he kisses her and she lets out a low whine without meaning to, clenching his hair in her fingers as he kisses her harder in response.

“Lock the door, Jon.”

He pulls back, confusion knitting his brow.

She kisses him again. “Lock the door and take me to bed.”

She watches as he realizes her meaning and stands abruptly, crossing the room to do her bidding. She rises from the tub, water dripping down her body in rivulets. She can feel the heat from his gaze as he returns to her side, bringing the bath sheet with him.

“Will you let me help you?” he asks, his voice rough.

She nods, finally feeling the first tendrils of shyness.

Gently he covers her with the sheet, taking her hand to help her out of the tub. She’s dripping water onto the floor, but for once the doesn’t care. She’s focused on him and the way he’s looking at her with such gentleness and desire in his eyes.

Before Jon she never knew the two could go hand in hand.

He gently towels off her hair, squeezing the darkened auburn strands in his hands, then works his way down her arms, kissing every raised line and scar.

“I should have come for you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, but she quiets him with a gentle hush. She brings his hands up to her neck and he continues to dry her, grazing down to her collarbones, between her breasts, and around her navel.

He’s touching her every inch of skin except for where she really wants him, and she feels like it might drive her mad.

“Are you sure that you want this?” he asks her, his fingers tracing delicately around her ankle. “We can always wait.”

“We’ve waited long enough,” she says.

She pulls him up to stand, then places hands on her breast.

She moans at the contact, the way the calloused skin of his palm scratches against her sensitive nipples. “Touch me, please,” she begs, and he does, dropping the bath sheet at their feet.

He kisses her mouth, one hand still on her breast as the other squeezes her hip. She gasps when he rolls her nipple between his fingers.

“Did you like that, sweet girl?”

She nods, shaking in his arms.

“Are you cold?”

She can’t tell if she’s shivering from the chill or from the way he’s touching her so she doesn’t answer, but he picks her up anyway, carrying her over to the furs on the large wooden bed.

“Is this alright?” he asks, nuzzling the spot between he neck and shoulder. She nods, loving the way the rough rasp of his beard feels against her sensitive skin. She wants to feel his skin on hers.

She tugs on the edge of his leather jerkin and he straightens, undoing the laces on his side. She helps him remove the weathered leather and drops it to the ground, reaching next for the hem his shirt but he stops her with a hand.

“You first,” he says, and he closes his mouth around her nipple. She gasps, clenching her fingers in his hair. She can feel him, swirling his tongue around and then flicking the tight bud, before giving her a gentle bite that makes her squeal.

He chuckles and kisses the soft skin between her breasts, his fingers continuing to tease her.

“I want to please you, Sansa. Will you let me?”

“Yes, Jon,” she pants. She’s rubbing her thighs together, savoring the way it makes the ache in her core both better and worse.

He kisses the tip of her neglected breast in return, laving it with affection before he works his way down, kissing along her ribs and scars, making her twitch whenever he brushes a sensitive spot.

He brushes even lower and her fingers thread through his curls.

“Will you let me kiss you, sweet girl?”

“Of course, Jon,” she says, confused. “Have you not kissed me several times over?”

He gives her a sly grin as his fingers slide down her belly, dipping into her belly button and gliding through the damp curls at her center.

“I would give you a different kind of kiss, my love.”

She gasps as spreads her legs apart, baring her to him. His fingers brush the nub her center, teasingly, and she bucks her hips without meaning to.

“Does it feel good when I touch you here?” he asks her and she nods, biting her lip. He smiles at that and leans down, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Jon, what-“

She cuts off with a whine as his tongue touches her center, licking gently up her slit to find her nub. She clenches her fingers in his hair, pulling hard enough that it’s surely painful, but it only seems to encourage him further. He continues, giving the sensitive little bud a few fast licks before he latches his mouth onto it and gives a gentle suck.

It makes her back arch and he catches her, holding her down with an arm across her belly.

“Do you like it when I kiss you like this, love?” he asks, not waiting for her answer to circle her nub again with his tongue.

She’s too dazed to speak. She can only feel and everything feels far too good. She bites her lip again as he reaches up to tweak her nipple.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweet girl,” he says, speaking into her skin. “You’re so wet for me.”

She feels his fingers at her entrance and immediately tenses, expecting pain.

“Shhhh.” He kisses her thigh, continuing to rub her nub with his thumb. “Relax for me, love.”

She takes a breath, looking down to see his eyes on her, a sweet smile on his face, and relaxes back against the furs.

He is gentle, only sliding one finger in as he continues to lick her, and she lets out a groan.

He hums in response, his mouth and finger slowly starting to move faster.

“That feels so good,” she pants, trying not to pull too hard on his hair. He nods, unwilling to stop licking and kissing her to answer aloud and she gasps as he slides another finger into her.

The heat in her core is building, the tension in her belly coiling tighter and tighter as he strokes her, and she cant help but push her hips into his face to get closer to him.

She’s chanting his name frantically, voice breaking from the effort to reach whatever it was that he was working her towards, her hips moving against his mouth in time with her fingers.

She’s so close...

And then he curls his fingers, giving her nub a hard suck and she shatters, gasping his name as he kisses her center, stroking her down from her peak.

She pants as she comes down, lying pliant as he kisses her folds and inner thighs.

“I never knew it could be like this,” she says breathlessly.

He smiles at her in response, propping himself up on one elbow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, tracing the flush along her chest with a finger. “So pink and lovely and naked against the blankets.”

She laughs at that, and he gives her a sweet kiss right below her belly button that makes her heart leap.

I could give him a babe, she thinks as he strokes her belly. A son that we could name Robb. A daughter that looks like Arya.

“Give me your babe, Jon,” she says, surprising him into stillness.

“Sansa we don’t have to-“

“I want to.” She moves to kneel before him. “Winterfell will need an heir, Jon. Let it be sooner, rather than later.”

She slides her fingers under the hem of his tunic.

“Give me your babe, Jon,” she repeats, pulling the linen up and over his head. She traces the scars over his chest, stopping the kiss the wickedly curved line over his heart. “Give me a sweet boy to name Robb. Or a wild little girl with your dark hair and grey eyes.” She kisses him, persuading him.

His hands are on her hips as she reaches for the laces of his breeches. “Let’s fill the halls of Winterfell with our children.” He groans as her fingers brush against him and she smiles, tentatively.

“I’ll give you a babe,” he says, pulling her roughly to him. “I’ll give you as many babes as you want.” His kiss is bruising, and she loves it. “Just marry me. Tonight.”

“I’ll marry you right now if you wish it,” she says and he kisses her again, pulling her down so that she lands on top of him.

Their kisses are sloppy and heated, their hands clumsily working to divest him of of his breeches as quickly as possible. She pulls the heavy fabric down, pausing as the length of him springs free from the confining material. He hisses as she touches him, and she wraps her hand around him more firmly.

He stops her with a hand.

“If you touch me like that I’ll spill before I’m even inside you. Come here.” She lets him pull her astride him, settling her legs over his hips so that his cock brushes against the sensitive bud at her center. He rolls his hips up, making her gasp.

“I want to see you ride me,” he says, his thumb finding her nub. “Would that be alright?”

“I don’t know how,” she says breathlessly. She can feel the tension starting again in her lower belly. She rolls her hips again, searching for friction.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl. Here.” His hands find her hips as he helps her up so she’s hovering over his cock. “We’ll go as slow as you want. Alright?”

She nods, then lowers herself, trying to stay relaxed as he guides himself in.

She feels the head of him at her entrance and groans at the sensation.

“More, Jon,” she begs harshly. “Please.”

He slides more of his length into her and she moans as he stretches further into her until he’s completely sheathed inside her.

She sighs in pleasure as his hands find her sides.

“Does that feel okay?” he asks her, his fingers stroking the skin of her hips.

“You feel wonderful, Jon.” She can feel the tension in his belly beneath her fingers. “Does it... feel good for you too?”

He shifts up to kiss her, groaning when she rolls her hips to accommodate him.

“You are the most wonderful woman,” he says while kissing her neck. She gasps at the slight scrape of his teeth and she hopes he leaves a mark for her to find in the morn.

His hand finds her hip again and he guides her, helping her find a rhythm that suits her.

She moans as he moves inside of her, the fullness he gives her lovely beyond words. It doesn’t take long before she’s writhing on top of him, urgently chasing another peak. Her mind is wild as her body moves unbidden, the thoughts and images she can’t focus on flying behind her eyes as she’s overwhelmed by the sensation of him inside of her, touching her.

“So good, Sansa.” Jon is panting too, thrusting up into her sweet enough to make her scream as he hits that delicious spot inside of her. “You’re so close, love. I can feel you clenching around me. Please.” His thumb finds her nub, rubbing furiously to push her along. “Peak for me, sweetheart.”

She finally comes with a wail, and only his arms keep her from completely falling limp on top of his chest.

“So soooo good, sweetheart.” She watches him, weakly swaying her hips to help him along, as his eyes close tightly.

His breathing is coming quicker now, and she reaches out to touch his face. He kisses her palm and then thrusts up into her a final time, bringing her lips to his for a searing kiss and she swallows his moan as he finally finds his pleasure.

They kiss for a moment, finding comfort in the closeness they’re sharing.

“I didn’t know that could happen,” Sansa finally says minutes later. She’s sunk down into the mattress, pulling him with her so that she could lay on his chest.

“What?” Jon asks. He’s drawing nonsensical things on the skin of her back with his finger. “You being on top of me?”

She shakes her head.

“I thought only men found pleasure in the bedroom.”

His movements still and she looks up at him.

He kisses her forehead.

“Women can find great pleasure in the bed,” he says. He sweeps her hair behind her shoulder, baring her breast. “Women can find even more pleasure than men, multiple times over.” He gives her nipple a light flick and her toes curl.

“Really?”

He nods.

“Would you like for me to show you?”

 

* * *

 

Two hours past midnight, long after the weary residents of the castle should be tucked safely in their beds, the Starks of Winterfell journey together to the Godswood.

Jon pushes Bran in his chair along the path, while Sansa and Arya follow along, arm-in-arm.

“I know that this must seem odd to you,” Sansa tells her sister, “but this is the best way to protect Jon. With his Targaryen heritage, the North will be uneasy under his leadership. Marrying me will give him the political ties he needs.”

“Plus there’s always the fact that you love each other,” Arya says, a smirk on her bruised face.

Sansa lets out a startled laugh.

“That too,” she agrees. She sneaks a glance at her sister. “You’re not upset?”

Arya shrugs.

“Things are different now. I could see that in your whenever you spoke of him. It just took seeing you together to realize how different things actually were.”

“Besides,” Arya says as they reach the heart tree, “I love you both. I want you to be happy.”

Sansa hugs her then. “Thank you for coming with us. For witnessing.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

A light snow starts falling as they all gather around the gnarled white roots of the heart tree.

Sansa looks at her family; Bran sitting stoically in his chair, Arya holding her hand, Jon beaming at her. She wishes that Robb and Mother and Father and Rickon were here with them.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Bran asks, looking up at them.

“Sansa, of House Stark comes here to be wed,” Arya replies. The sisters smile at each other, and Sansa is helpless to keep the tears back. “A woman grown, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods.”

Arya looks to Jon, who is standing solemnly before them. “Who comes to claim her?”

He steps forward with a smile, snow falling into his loose hair.

“Jon Snow, of House Stark.”

He stops there, as if unsure of what else to say.

“King in the North,” Bran adds, “and Heir to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon looks at Bran for a moment, then nods in agreement.

“King in the North and Heir to the Seven Kingdoms,” he repeats, his voice strong and steady. “Who gives her?”

“Arya of House Stark, her sister and Ender of the Long Night.” They all share a smile.

“Lady Sansa, will you take this man?”

Sansa steps forward to place her gloves hand in his.

“I take this man.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread only by yours truly. 
> 
> Mostly because i’ve never written smut before, and I’m too much of a scaredy-cat to ask someone I know to proofread lol, so any mistakes are mine.


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